


I Believe in Sherlock Holmes

by wolfchasing



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, I Believe in Sherlock Holmes, Meta, Post Reichenbach, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfchasing/pseuds/wolfchasing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he fell, Sherlock spent most of his time drinking to forget the look on John's face. He's lost hope and though he doesn't particularly like to admit it, he misses his friend. It's not until some very familiar looking spray paint begins to appear in London does he regain hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Believe in Sherlock Holmes

For the first few weeks after his "death", Sherlock spends his time drinking.

He's never experimented with drinking before; always choosing to avoid it because of the way it slows down his mind. Now, he can't get enough of it. He wants to forget the look that was on John's face when he saw the 'body.'

Every night (in disguise, of course) he walks to the pub down the road from Molly's place. Every morning at 3am, he can't be bothered to retain his disguise as he stumbles back to Molly's spare room.

The day he decides to stop drinking is the one month anniversary of his 'death.' Molly's been hounding him about it constantly, having finally dropped the crush to become a friend. "Don't drink yourself to death, Sherlock," she said. "We've tried hard to keep you alive. Don't ruin it."

The one month anniversary of his 'death' is also the first time he walks down Baker Street since  _that day_. The urge to run to number 221B and break down the door is overwhelming. He's just about to turn his back on the place and head for the pub when he notices something in the corner of his eye.

He walks up to the only disused building on Baker Street (It's a rather decrepit old place that once housed a violent murderer – of course no-one wants it) and inspects the bright yellow spray paint that covers the entire front.

_I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!_

It's sloppy, unprofessional, and after he rubs it a little, he determines that it's the exact same paint that he used to put a smiley face on the wall of his and John's flat.

It's a marginally happier Sherlock Holmes that leaves Baker Street that night.

***

Two months later, Sherlock notices changes to the city.

For one, the sloppy and bright yellow ' _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES'_ is now almost everywhere in London. It humbles him that John still has so much faith in him, regardless of what he told him on  _that day._

John has even had the gall to spray it on the front of Scotland Yard and still get away with it. Sherlock suspected Lestrade had something to do with it.

By this time, a second message has started appearing. ' _MORIARTY WAS REAL!'_ is sprayed on the front of various newspaper stands, media offices, and amazingly, on the front of the BBC studios. Every night they clear it away, but by the next morning, it's back again, always in the same bright yellow spray paint.

It's this that prompts the media to dig deeper into the story of Richard Brook. He almost can't believe that no-one's done it before – it really was a rather weak cover story – but then he remembers that people are idiots.

They interview people that were allegedly involved in Richard Brook's productions, they discover that Brook's 'story telling' show never existed, and finally, they determine that Richard Brook was an elaborate ruse. Someone even figures out the connection between Richard Brook and 'Reichenbach.' Sherlock is suitably impressed.

***

More graffiti has started appearing around London, but Sherlock can tell it's no longer just John.

It's far more professional now. Multiple colours, stylised writing and even his and John's silhouettes have been appearing all over London. They're everywhere. In the tube stations, at bus stops, and even on the sides of those big red buses.

He's got his own place by now. He's perma-rented a hotel room using money he filched from Mycroft's bank account. Of course, Mycroft knows it's him from the moment the money is gone. The elder Holmes tracks Sherlock down with ease, but Sherlock doesn't care. It's been seven months since he's had contact with anyone from his old life. He doesn't even care that it's Mycroft.

The second Mycroft walks through the door, Sherlock is met with an umbrella to the head.

"What the hell was that for?" He bursts out indignantly.

" _You_ upset Mummy," Mycroft says angrily before his emotions get the better of him. He pulls his little brother into a brief hug.

Mycroft has never been one for exhibiting his feelings, but he can't help himself. He whacks his brother once more for good measure, then they get down to business.

***

A year on, the ' _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK!'_ graffiti is still appearing consistently. On the occasions where he passes John in the street, he can hear the clanking of spray cans in his bag, and can see the yellow stains on his fingers. It takes all of his willpower to stop himself from pulling his friend into a hug and apologising profusely.

The media is calling it the ' _Campaign for Belief,'_ and amazingly, it's spread from graffiti to posters, flyers, shirts and badges. He can barely go anywhere without seeing ' _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK!'_ these days.

On one of the days when he (stupidly) leaves his main disguise back at the hotel room, he passes Sally Donovan outside King's Cross. He's surprised to see that she's wearing an ' _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK!'_ badge on her jacket. She's surprisedto see him at all.

"Sherlock?" She says, disbelief colouring her voice.

He keeps walking, speeding up ever so slightly so that when he turns a corner into an alleyway, he's able to duck behind a skip. Sally runs past it, a panicked but hopeful look on her face. She stops at the end of the alleyway, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She turns back the way she came and heads back towards the train station. As she turns the corner, Sherlock hears her mutter two words. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock has to sit behind the skip for another ten minutes before he feels ready to come out.

***

The next round of graffiti that went up was ' _SHERLOCK IS ALIVE!'_ and ' _SHERLOCK IS INNOCENT!', occasionally even in the petite handwriting of one Sally Donovan._

It went all around London, accompanied by paintings of Sherlock in that bloody hat. Even Banksy had a shot at it.

_Not long now._

_**_

When Sherlock's self-exile reaches the second year mark, the press treat the anniversary of his 'death' as an opportunity to sell papers. They interview the people that Sherlock helped. People involved in cases that he could not possibly have set up. Carl Powers' mother, the kids from the 'Geek Interpreter', even those actors from 'The Aluminium Crutch' (he found it easier to refer to cases by the silly names John gave them) come forth and share their stories.

Bit by bit, more people believe that he's innocent. More people believe the truth. Soon, he can go home.

***

When Sherlock heard about John getting married, he snuck into the back of the church.

It was risky. Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and so many others were there. He went dressed in his best suit with his hair dyed to a light strawberry-blonde. He'd grown a beard (also dyed) and wore false glasses, just so he could attend John's wedding.

When the ceremony finished, Sherlock made a quick decision. He pulled an ' _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!'_ badge from his pocket along with a pen and some paper. He scribbled a quick message and wrapped the badge up.

Changing his posture ever so slightly, he walked up to John and shook his hand, placing the paper and badge in to his hand.

"Congratulations, John!" He said in a voice that was far from his own.

John smiled, but was wary. "Thankyou… who are you?"

Sherlock winked and walked away.

He'd just pushed open the church doors when John's voice rang around the room, silencing everyone inside.

" _WAIT!"_

_***_

It had been three years, four months and two weeks since Sherlock leapt off of that roof.

John hadn't been counting the days. Of course he hadn't. Because that would have been utterly ridiculous.

Before he met Sherlock, he'd been close to empty. He had no friends, a bad relationship with his only sibling and a leg that didn't work the way it was supposed to, but he'd been mostly content. When Sherlock came into his life, John discovered what he'd been lacking; excitement, and a best friend.

When Sherlock died, John barely held himself together. He visited the grave every week. He'd go out for drinks with Lestrade. He'd watch TV with Mrs. Hudson. He'd work long shifts at the clinic. He seemed be doing fine, but on the inside, he hurt.

Every now and then, he thought he'd pass Sherlock on the street. He thought he'd see that deep blue coat out of the corner of his eye or be walking behind someone with those dark curls, or would catch those icy blue eyes, but whenever he'd look harder, they'd always be gone. He always put it down to his imagination working in overdrive, but he still retained that small modicum of hope.

It's why he started spraying ' _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK!'_ all over London. He didn't care about recieving more ASBOs or fines. When other people started to take up the tag, his heart leapt. With more people taking up the tag, there was more chance that Sherlock would see it… if he was alive, that is.

When he met Mary, his life flipped around significantly. He was in a large shopping centre about two years after  _that day._ His leg had been acting up again (his therapist was determined that Sherlock hadn't been good for his PTSD recovery. He'd gotten a new therapist the next day), so he needed to take the elevator.

He'd held the door for her and her pram and she thanked him.

He looked at her, liked what he saw and hoped she had a nice personality to match. But, no. She had a kid. There was probably someone else.

He was about to leave the elevator without saying a word when she blurted out, "Would you like to go for coffee?"

They went for coffee.

A year later, they tied the knot. The ceremony was amazing and his stunning wife captured his whole attention, but a part of him kept thinking,  _I wish he was here too._

After the ceremony, John was cornered by a stranger with red hair and a beard. He was tall, graceful and had marvellous cheekbones, all complemented by icy blue eyes that reminded John far too much of Sherlock. He was about to say something when the stranger shook his hand and said very enthusiastically, "Congratulations, John!"

It even sounded vaguely like him, except Sherlock would never get as excited about something as mundane as a  _wedding._ But just to be sure…

"Thank you… who are you?"

The stranger winked ( _Sherlock winked at me the first time we met_ ), turned around and headed for the back of the Church.

The man was halfway across the room before John realised that the man had left something in his hand. It was something wrapped in a piece of paper.

He peeled it open and saw the ' _I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK!'_ pin, and his heart leapt into his throat as he read the message.

' _I'm sorry, John. Thank you for believing. – SH'_

The stranger was pushing open the doors when John found his voice and screamed  _"WAIT!"_

The guests were silent as John dropped his cane and sprinted to the back of the Church. The stranger had frozen and he had started shaking a little.

John reached the man and sized him up.  _Definitely Sherlock's height and posture. Yes, that appears to be that ruddy purple shirt beneath that jacket. Is it him…?_

John placed a hand on his shoulder and spun the man around, peering into his face.

 _God, those are definitely his eyes and cheekbones._ He pictured the hair dark and the beard gone.  _It's him. Oh my god, it's him._

The man offered a weak smile before John punched him in the face. The wedding-goers let out a collective gasp, and Lestrade actually  _ran_ up to try and stop John from punching him again, which was looking _very_ likely.

"I deserved that," the man deadpanned, stopping Lestrade in his tracks. The silver-haired detective dropped his jaw in recognition.

"You  _bastard,_ " John hissed. "I thought you were  _dead._ "

Sherlock had to bite back a smart-ass 'Well, obviously I'm not,' instead saying, "I'm sorry." He smiled at John. "You can hit me again if it'll make you feel any better."

John fought that urge. "Sod that," he said while pulling Sherlock into a hug. "Don't you  _dare_ do that again."

 _Never,_ Sherlock thought as he wrapped his arms around his friend.  _Never again._

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd get in on this whole AO3 shebang, and I'm finding it a lot better than other fanfiction sites I've visited.
> 
> This fic was inspired by the amazing #believeinsherlock movement started on Tumblr not long after TRF aired. I've found it endlessly fascinating to watch and see how such a simple little comment has turned into this massive movement. It's just so interesting to see how creative people can get, all in the name of this one amazing show.
> 
> I have Tumblr, Twitter and LiveJournal too, if you're interested! I'm under the handle of wolfchasing on all sites. :D


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